


wild and fluorescent, come home to my heart

by scoutshonour



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 00:37:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16230572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutshonour/pseuds/scoutshonour
Summary: She's kind of magical -- whenever he even thinks about pulling a reverse, climbing into her window instead even with her dad who would probably shoot him without hesitation, she appears. Of course that's not the only reason he thinks that; there's the softness of her hair, the way she's been determined to 'defeat math' (her words, not his), how her arm slung tightly around his is one of the few things that can quiet the storm raging in his head.There are so many things, but he can't think of all of them when Malia hisses as she climbs inside. "The window keeps slamming on my fingers."(or: a night, in the early stages of their relationship and after the Nogitsune, that Malia sneaks into Stiles' room)





	wild and fluorescent, come home to my heart

**Author's Note:**

> nothing but respect for MY endgame. god, i miss them. i wrote this really quickly, so mistakes are probably abundant.

She's kind of magical -- whenever he even thinks about pulling a reverse, climbing into  _her_ window instead even with her dad who would probably shoot him without hesitation, she appears. Of course that's not the only reason he thinks that; there's the softness of her hair, the way she's been determined to 'defeat math' (her words, not his), how her arm slung tightly around his is one of the few things that can quiet the storm raging in his head. 

There are so many things, but he can't think of all of them when Malia hisses as she climbs inside. "The window keeps slamming on my fingers."

Stiles straightens, instinctively inching towards one side of his bed. He wonders if she can smell how damn relieved he is to see her. "Does that even hurt? You can be shot and survive, what can a  _window_ really do to you?"

It's dark, but he knows she's rolling her eyes. "Hurt like a bitch," she says, like it's obvious. "The pain goes away, but I still feel it, you know." She stands there, her hands on her hips, probably staring at him with a quizzical expression. She does that often and at first, it made him uncomfortable, like she was studying his every move. She is, probably, but he's used to the intensity of her eyes. He now finds it comforting. 

He waits for her to join him. She doesn't. So he exhales and asks, "What?"

"You were fine yesterday," she says, a frown in her voice.

"I have zero idea what you're talking about."

Malia sighs and finally,  _finally_ walks over, sprawls across his bed like it's her own. "Can I hold you?" she asks. She's asking more these days, instead of just doing. He didn't mind when she'd wordlessly sneak into his room and spoon him protectively, grip only a little tight, never suffocating. But it became a bit of a problem when she kept touching Lydia's hair without her permission, or stealing Isaac's fries, and Stiles explained that she couldn't do things without  _asking_ first. That people didn't like that.

"But I come into your room all the time without asking. So you don't like that?"

"No!" he'd squeaked out. "I do, I do, but it's different. I  _want_ you to come in my room, I mean, I don't--I don't  _mind--_ I like it," he said, more decisively. He felt like he'd regained composure, but got flustered again when she laughed at him, only to kiss at the flush in his cheeks.

Stiles smiles a little at the memory, nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, please."

Malia tucks her chin in the crook of his shoulder and slides her arm across his chest, pulling him close. Her touch causes a ripple of warmth throughout his body and he hums with delight.

"I'm really glad you're here," he admits, because it's easier to talk about these things in the dark. "I couldn't sleep."  _I can never sleep, not without you,_ he doesn't say. He's pretty sure she knows it anyway. 

"You smell anxious. Yesterday, you smelled okay, but now--" She squeezes tighter, cutting herself off. "You're not  _okay._ "

Stiles tries to turn around, his throat tightening at the sound of her voice, but her grip is too strong. "Malia, I'm--I'm fine."

"I know you're lying," she snaps. "You're not getting better."

"Well, I'm  _sorry_ if I'm not fun to be around. I guess that's what happens when you're possessed and you--you  _feel_ the murders of so many, so many fucking people, when you're the reason for all the destruction and pain in town!" 

Malia's grip loosens and her arm slowly peels off of him. 

Stiles sighs, mad at himself, mad at how he can't just _move on_. Mostly, he's just tired. He's so fucking tired. 

"Do you think--" She starts to say, before stopping. He knows that tone well, the same tone of voice whenever Kira suggests she wears a bra, or Lydia tries tutoring her in math. It's frustration.

Stiles is annoyed--maybe from lack of sleep, from feeling like  _he's_ disappointing  _her_ (and everyone, really)--but he turns around to face her, anyway. He's kind of the only person who can calm her down, except for maybe Kira, and, weirdly, Isaac. (Those two have the weirdest friendship that Stiles will never understand because firstly, that's  _Isaac,_ and secondly,  _Isaac._ But he makes Malia laugh and he and Scott are running around their feelings for each other, so if two of the most important people in Stiles life like him, then, whatever. Maybe Isaac isn't the absolute worst.) 

 

Even though he's mildly frustrated with her, he doesn't like hearing how upset she is. (Even if he's, maybe, probably, the cause of it.)

Her face is in her hands, so he carefully pries them away. "Hey," he says gently, "what is it? Talk to me."

"I likebeing around you. Always. I don't like seeing you like this, tired, not _sleeping_ , not _eating_ , not _showering_ , because--because you're in  _pain._ You--Stiles, I want you to be happy."

Oh.

He wants so badly to kiss her, but he kisses her forehead instead. "I'm trying," he says weakly. He  _is_ ,but it feels useless. Everything feels useless.

Malia presses her face into his shoulder. Maybe not everything. "I don't know how to be there for you."

"You're here, aren't you? It's just--thisdoesn't mean you're not doing anything right. You, Scott, everyone--you're good, it's just...I feel like I'm  _drowning,_ and--and I don't know how to come back from this, but you're helping, okay? You are."

She cups his face, staring deeply at him. He can make out the sharpness of her eyes and the fondness in them, too. "Keep trying, okay?"

Something in his chest loosens. He presses their foreheads together, his lips brushing against hers. There's about a million different thoughts swirling in his mind, one about how grateful he is to know her, another about how she is one of his favourite people on this stupid planet, but what comes out is this: "I like you so fucking much."

"I know," she says. "Lydia asked if we're dating, but I didn't know what to say."

"You have to--you have to know I'm yours, right? I am. All yours."

This makes her smile. She rubs her thumbs across his cheeks and he shuts his eyes. "I know," she repeats, "but I want you to get better first. Being boyfriend and girlfriend sounds like it takes a lot of work, but you should focus on yourself, first. I'll be here."

"Okay," he says, admittedly stunned by her response, both by the maturity that he doubts anyone their age has, and because of how surprised he is that she gets it. She gets  _him._ "Can we still kiss?"

"If you want.  _I_ want to. You're a good kisser."

"Like you have much to compare it to."

She pokes his ribcage. "Never-mind. No kisses for you."

"Wait, never-mind, I'm kidding--"

Malia laughs and Stiles reluctantly shushes her, whisper-shouting that she might wake his dad.

He asks her about school, which is enough to make her stop laughing and instead growl, and she lets him ramble about the latest Star Wars movie. They go back and forth, her with stories of her sister, him with stories of his mom (the good ones), and then he's falling asleep. 

He wakes up in the morning, sunlight streaming through the window and illuminating their faces. Malia has a tight grip on him and he carefully slides out of her grasp. She looks adorable while sleeping, her hair all over the place, mouth half-open, drool dripping down her face. He kisses her forehead and tucks the blanket over her shoulders.

Stiles tiptoes out of his bedroom and heads for the washroom. He showers. It's not much, but it's something: it's progress. 

**Author's Note:**

> also?????? i love isaac?????????????? stiles just doesn't????? wtf stiles???????? 
> 
> kudos/comments are always greatly appreciated :)


End file.
